


Christening the Kitchen

by jaradel



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Baking, Blow Jobs, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 11:52:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6152829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaradel/pseuds/jaradel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bitty visits Jack in Providence for the weekend. Baking and sexytimes ensue!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christening the Kitchen

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters belong to [Ngozi](http://ngoziu.tumblr.com/), creator of the web comic [Check, Please!](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com)
> 
> Beta'ed by the lovely and talented [mistyzeo](http://mistyzeo.tumblr.com). Thank you dear!
> 
> I used hovertext for the French in the story, but translations are also provided at the end. Any mistakes in the French are my own. (Who knew I'd be Googling "Quebecois profanity" at 2AM?) 
> 
> Also, I've included a basic biscuit recipe that you can try out yourself!

Jack rolled over and threw his arm out, expecting to find Bitty, but the other side of the bed was empty. 

 _“_ _Où?...”_ he thought, sitting up and looking around, bleary-eyed. It had been late when Bitty arrived on the bus from Samwell last night. Jack had just gotten home from an overtime game against the Maple Leafs, and they were both exhausted. Supper had been a bowl of cereal apiece consumed while lounging against the kitchen counter (though Jack was pleased that even Bitty’s exhaustion hadn’t dampened his enthusiasm for top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances and granite countertops), followed by the two of them half-kissing, half-stumbling their way to the bedroom, and falling asleep before they could properly reacquaint themselves. Now it was morning on Jack’s day off, and he had been looking forward to greeting Bitty properly. But the object of his affection was nowhere to be seen. 

At that moment he heard the sound of the apartment door open and close again, the rustle of plastic shopping bags, and the click and whump of cabinet and refrigerator doors opening and closing. Grinning in spite of himself, Jack swung his long legs over the side of the bed and stood up. He grabbed a faded and well-worn Samwell t-shirt from the chair in the corner of the room, piled high with clothes, and pulled it on as he walked out of the bedroom toward the kitchen. 

Bitty was already deep into baking mode, cutting up small cubes of cold butter to add to a flour mixture in a bowl at his right elbow. To Bitty’s left sat a small dish of extra flour, a baking sheet, a rolling pin, a tempered glass measuring cup of buttermilk, and a biscuit cutter. Bitty’s hips swayed unconsciously to the sound of a female singer’s voice emanating softly from his earbuds, and Jack took advantage of this distraction to sidle up behind him and wrap his arms around Bitty’s waist. 

“Good lord, Jack, you about gave me heart failure!” Bitty exclaimed, dropping the knife on the cutting board and spinning around in Jack’s arms. He tugged the earbuds out and draped them around his neck. “I thought you were still asleep. I was going to bring you breakfast in bed.” 

“Funny, if you’d stayed in bed I’d have had my breakfast already,” Jack replied, his voice still rough from sleep. He leaned down to steal a kiss from Bitty before he could chirp him for the terrible innuendo. 

Bitty returned the kiss enthusiastically, winding his arms around Jack’s neck. “Nothing says we can’t have second breakfast,” he murmured between kisses. 

Jack pulled back, brows scrunched in confusion. “Second breakfast?” 

Bitty rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me the Lord of the Rings passed you by as well.” Jack’s continued look of confusion answered his question. “Fine, we’ll add that to the list. Maybe during the All-Star break. We’ll need a couple days to watch the extended versions.” He went up on tiptoe to kiss away the last of Jack’s confusion, his fingers playing with the dark almost-curls at Jack’s nape. Jack responded by pressing Bitty back against the counter gently, their hips perfectly aligned. Instinctively Bitty reached back and shoved the cutting board out of the way. “Wait – let me finish the biscuits first before the butter warms up,” he said, reluctantly pulling away from Jack’s tantalizing mouth. 

Jack pouted with feigned disappointment. “No pancakes?” he asked, though in truth he really didn’t care what Bitty made; it all tasted far better than anything he could make for himself. 

“Not today, darlin’. Today, you’re getting made-from-scratch buttermilk biscuits, the way God intended,” Bitty replied with a wink. He pecked Jack on the cheek and turned around, resuming the careful cubing of his stick of butter. 

Jack stayed behind Bitty, looking over his shoulder. “So how is this different from using Bisquick?” he asked, knowing full well he was about to get chirped. The day Bitty made ANY sort of baked goods that came from a box mix was the day the world would end. 

Bitty shot Jack a withering look over his shoulder. “Jack Laurent Zimmermann, do _not_ blaspheme. Bisquick is a poor substitute for _real_ biscuits.” He finished cubing the butter, then dumped the cubes into the flour mixture. “Besides, biscuits don’t have that many ingredients anyway. There are two important things to remember: don’t overmix the batter, and don’t overwork the dough.” Using his fingers, Bitty began massaging the butter cubes into the flour mixture, gently combining them until the flour took on a crumbly appearance. “The first step is to mix your dry ingredients – that’s your flour, baking powder, and salt, and you stir all that together a few times and set it aside. Then you cube the butter while it’s still cold. The butter is your tenderizer – it makes the biscuits less chewy and flakier. You can use shortening, but butter has a better flavor and makes a lighter biscuit, I think.” 

Jack watched with fascination as Bitty made an indention in the flour-butter mixture. “Now this is your well. You pour the buttermilk in here, then you quickly blend it into the flour and butter mixture. It’s important not to overmix – you whisk it together just enough to incorporate the buttermilk so it’s not runny. Some people use a fork, I use a wooden spoon. You _never_ use an electric mixer when you make biscuits. _Ever_.” 

Bitty deftly combined the mixture with his wooden spoon, stirring it a half-dozen times. When he was finished, the dough was sticky. “Now, some people say that you can start working the dough right away, but I find that I have better luck if I cover it and chill it for a short time.” Bitty removed the spoon and set it on the cutting board he had moved aside, and covered the bowl with a clean dish towel. Jack backed up to let Bitty put the bowl in the fridge. He returned to the worktop and started sprinkling flour on it from the small bowl. “Once the dough has had a chance to chill, we’ll turn it out of the bowl and onto the floured worktop. You have to flour it or the dough will just stick to the counter and make a mess.” 

The oven beeped behind Jack, indicating that it had finished preheating. Bitty kept narrating as if he were on a cooking show. “I set the oven at 425 degrees – that’s Fahrenheit, Mr. Zimmermann – so it could preheat while I made the biscuits. It’s not necessarily done preheating when it beeps, though. It’s a good idea to let it sit a few more minutes to make sure that the entire oven is heated evenly. That was especially true of old Betsy, bless her heart, but these newer ovens tend to have pretty good temperature regulation. Still, an oven thermometer inside the oven doesn’t go amiss. Even a new oven can have temperature calibration issues.” 

Bitty took the dough out of the refrigerator. Jack opened the oven. Sure enough, Bitty had purchased a small oven thermometer which now hung from the top rack of the oven.  

“Jack! Close that oven door!” Bitty said in a mock-scolding voice. 

“ _Oui, monsieur,”_ Jack replied with a sweeping bow. 

Bitty shoved him playfully on the shoulder. “C’mere, you can help with this part,” he said. Jack resumed his previous position directly behind him. Bitty was now busy turning the dough onto the floured worktop. “Are your hands clean?” he asked Jack. 

“Um…” 

 “You should wash before this next step then.” 

Jack turned around to the sink behind him and quickly but carefully washed his hands. Bitty took this opportunity to get back at Jack for distracting him earlier, and pressed the length of his body against Jack’s. 

“If you don’t want your biscuits to be ruined, you’d better stop,” Jack teased, his voice pitched low with growing arousal. 

Bitty chuckled softly. “Just giving you a preview, honey.” He turned back to the dough, and Jack followed obediently. Distantly in the back of his mind, he mused at the role reversal. On the ice, and even at the Haus, Jack was the undisputed leader. Everyone looked to him for guidance. But around Bitty, especially in the kitchen, Jack was content to follow. For a slightly-built man, Bitty had a commanding presence in the kitchen, and Jack wondered if Bitty might eventually decide to go professional with his baking. 

“Earth to Jack! You still with me, honey?” Bitty said, leaning back against him and looking up through golden eyelashes. 

Jack snapped out of his reverie. “Always, _mon petit chou_ ,” he said, dropping a kiss to Bitty’s forehead. 

Bitty blushed. “You’ll have to teach me that one later.” 

“Absolutely.” 

Bitty continued with his tutorial on biscuit-making for his captivated audience of one. “So this is the fun part – folding the dough and actually cutting the biscuits. You don’t want to overwork the dough,” he explained, as he sprinkled a little more flour on top of the dough mound. “Pat it out gently so it’s flat and about an inch thick. Then you fold, turn, and roll it out,” he demonstrated. “Here, you try it.” 

Bitty pulled Jack’s hands under his, rubbing a bit of flour on his palms. Holding onto the backs of Jack’s hands, he guided him through folding the dough again, rotating it to the left, and gently rolling the dough out with the rolling pin, using little bouncing motions. “Don’t roll all the way to the edge or you’ll squish the layers. The layers make the biscuits flaky.”  

If someone had told Jack that he could be aroused simply by folding biscuit dough, he’d have blushed furiously and laughed it off. But here, now, pressed against the length of Bitty’s backside, with Bitty holding his hands as they worked the dough, he was biting his lip in an effort to not pin Bitty to the counter and take him from behind. _No,_ he thought, shaking the image from his mind. He wanted to take Bitty apart slowly, not rut against him like a teenager. But it was definitely a close thing. 

“Um, so now we’ve folded our dough, so we’re going to cut it into biscuits,” Bitty continued, his voice oddly thick. Jack smiled – clearly he wasn’t the only one fighting his body right now. “Cut the biscuits as close together as you can, ‘cause you’ll have to re-roll the scraps, and you don’t want to have to do that more than once. Mama used to take the scraps from the second cutting and twist them into my initials when I was a kid. Maybe I’ll make you your own ‘J’ biscuit,” he teased. 

“Mmmm,” Jack hummed in Bitty’s ear, and was rewarded with a pleasant shiver. 

“Jesus Jack, your _voice_ ,” Bitty breathed as he tried to cut the biscuits carefully. 

“Problem?” Jack asked, folding his large hand over Bitty’s smaller one holding the cutter, and guiding it to the next spot. 

“Not at all – nothing I can’t handle once we get these biscuits in the oven,” Bitty growled, pushing back into Jack’s hips. 

Jack felt his whole body flush from Bitty’s bump-and-grind, and returned the favor, taking care not to bump Bitty too hard into the counter.  

“Fuck,” Bitty swore under his breath as he bumped Jack again, adding a little roll of his hips in the process. Jack’s cock was at full attention now, and he prayed fervently that Bitty was almost done. 

Bitty peeled the scraps away from the cut biscuits and set them aside, and then moved the biscuits to the baking sheet. He quickly kneaded the scraps into a dough mound again, and with practiced efficiency he folded, turned, and rolled the dough into a rectangle. He got half as many biscuits out of the dough on the second go-round, then quickly rolled the scraps into a J for Jack and a B for himself, laying them on the baking sheet next to the cut biscuits, all the while persisting with the subtle roll of his hips into Jack’s groin. 

Jack was on the verge of losing his higher brain function when Bitty nudged him out of the way. “Now, uh, some people like to brush an egg wash on top of their biscuits, but I ain’t got time for that right now, so we’re just gonna stick these bad boys in the oven for about twelve minutes, which should be just enough time to show you what happens when you tease me while I’m baking.” Bitty popped the baking sheet in the oven, set the timer for twelve minutes, and quickly washed his hands. Jack nudged him over at the sink and washed the remaining biscuit dough off his hands as well, and without even bothering to dry them, he wrapped his arms around Bitty and lifted him up on to a cleared section of the worktop. 

Bitty moaned and wrapped his legs around Jack’s waist, sliding his hands up under his shirt while their mouths met again and again. “Honey, just you wait until these biscuits are done,” Bitty murmured between open mouthed kisses. 

“Why’s that?” Jack asked, pulling away just long enough for Bitty to skim Jack’s t-shirt up and over his head, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor. Jack repaid the favor to Bitty, and pulled him to the edge of the worktop, torsos pressed together. 

“Because after I feed you a delicious buttermilk biscuit with strawberry jam, I’m gonna help you burn off those extra calories,” Bitty said, bending to suck on Jack’s left nipple. 

 _“Câlisse de Crisse,”_ Jack breathed, as Bitty’s tongue sent a shudder of arousal through his body. The sensory input from Bitty’s ministrations was nearly overwhelming, and without warning Bitty’s hand slid into Jack's boxer-briefs, slender fingers closing around his length and pulling upward from root to tip. Jack couldn’t help himself now; he bucked into Bitty’s hand while Bitty switched to Jack’s right nipple, alternating between nibbling it gently and laving it with his tongue. Jack could feel his knees wobbling, and as if he sensed his unsteadiness, Bitty wrapped his free arm around Jack’s back to steady him. Jack held on to Bitty’s shoulders for balance, head thrown back and cursing in French while Bitty jerked him off inside his briefs. 

 _“Mon Dieu, mon Dieu, oui oui oui Crisse—”_ Jack stopped, hips stuttering and thrusting once, twice in the perfect circle of Bitty’s hand as he came harder than he had in a long time. Bitty coaxed him through it, dropping soft kisses on his sternum and gently disengaging his hand. Jack stood there for a moment, catching his breath and his balance. Bitty looked up at him. “You ok?” he asked, wiping his hand on a nearby dishtowel. 

Jack couldn’t respond verbally if he tried, and even if he did, it would’ve been in French anyway. Instead he dropped to his knees and undid the flies of Bitty's jeans, pushing them out of the way as best as he could and pulling Bitty’s cock out of his briefs. Bitty threw his hands back behind him for balance. “Oh Jack, fuck I’m not gonna last long,” he breathed. 

Jack wasted no time, engulfing as much of Bitty’s cock as he could in his mouth. He rolled his tongue around the head and along the length, setting a rhythm as Bitty squirmed with pleasure above him, hooking his legs over Jack’s shoulders. Jack could feel that Bitty was close, and with a well-timed twist of his hand and a swallow around Bitty’s cockhead, Bitty gasped out a long “Fuuuuuuuck” and came hard down Jack’s throat. Jack pulled back a bit, working Bitty’s orgasm out of him as his hips thrust upward from the worktop, swallowing everything Bitty gave him. With a final lick and a suck, Jack pulled off and rocked back on his heels, panting. 

 _Ding!_  

“Well, if that isn’t perfect timing, I don’t know what is,” Bitty drawled hoarsely, still breathing heavily. He tucked himself back into his pants and zipped up, sliding off the counter and landing softly on the balls of his feet. He dropped a quick kiss on the top of Jack’s head as he sidestepped him to grab an oven mitt and pull the biscuits out of the oven. Jack shifted out of the way, holding the edge of the counter to lever himself off of the kitchen floor. He tucked himself back into his briefs and picked up his t-shirt, enjoying the view of a shirtless Bitty tending to his biscuits, which of course had turned out perfectly: golden brown on the top with visible flaky layers. Even the J and B turned out alright. Bitty nodded approvingly at his handiwork. He put the potholder down next to the cooktop and turned off the oven, then turned to face Jack, who was still standing there holding his t-shirt. 

“Now, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty said seductively, taking Jack’s hand. “What do you say we go work up an appetite?”

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> Où = Where  
> Oui, monsieur = Yes, sir  
> mon petit chou = my little cabbage  
> Câlisse de Crisse = Fucking Christ (literally, "chalice of Christ")  
> Mon Dieu, mon Dieu, oui oui oui Crisse = My God, my God, yes yes yes Christ (yeah, Jack was really feeling it)
> 
> Basic biscuit recipe:  
> 2 cups (250 grams) unbleached, all-purpose flour  
> 1 tablespoon baking powder  
> 1 teaspoon kosher salt  
> 1/4 cup (56 grams / 1/2 stick) unsalted butter, cut into small cubes (roughly 1/2" square)  
> 1 cup (230 grams) real buttermilk
> 
> Follow Bitty's directions and bake at 425°F for 10-15 minutes. Enjoy!
> 
> More details, and other tips and tricks, can be found here: http://localmilkblog.com/2015/01/flaky-fluffy-buttermilk-biscuits-from-scratch.html


End file.
